


Heaven is Worse Than Hell

by T0XIC_P0IS0N



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angel Blood, Angel blood is red fuck off, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I hate him so much, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Nightmares, No Smut, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Spooning, Torture, Why Did I Write This?, idk if I should call him possessive, shockingly, sorry if they seem OOC I’m not good at writing them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T0XIC_P0IS0N/pseuds/T0XIC_P0IS0N
Summary: Despite the circumstances,despite all your trauma,I'll always be here to protect you.I'll kill 'em for you, angel,no matter the cost,for you are worth every sacrifice.





	1. The Horrible Months

_ Heaven is Worse Than Hell _

_ Chapter 1: The Horrible Months _

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

Crowley knew something was severely wrong when he hadn’t heard from Aziraphale in over a course of a week. It wasn’t like the angel to leave him in the dark about his whereabouts, and Crowley knew this all too well. The nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach gnawed at him, anxiously sitting in his office as his foot tapped nervously on the floor, sat in front of the phone as he waited for Aziraphale to call him. Call him to provide him an explanation, an apology—anything! Crowley was so desperate, he would accept anything at this point! 

Impatience and worry would prove to be too much of a powerful, overwhelming force onto the demon, which was the sole reasons for Crowley speeding in the Bentley to Aziraphale’s bookshop. He had enough of playing the waiting game, and he just _ had _ to check up on the angel—how could he not, given everything that’s happened? They prevented the apocalypse, for crying out loud! Even with their trials done and over with, surely they still weren’t safe. Crowley just feared that, if something really did happen, he would be too late… The demon’s heart clenched at the idea, intrusive and dark thoughts bombarding his mind. 

When Crowley finally arrived at the bookshop, what he found was… strange. No, this was beyond strange; this was entirely impossible! The bookshop was empty, vacant as if no one has been in the place in a decade. What puzzled Crowley, even more, is that when he asked mortals about the shop, no one knew what he was talking about. All of them told him that no one’s owned the place in years.

_ Angel, where have you gone? _

Crowley’s heart couldn’t take this. Where was Aziraphale? Surely the angel wouldn’t just pack up and leave—he didn’t have anywhere to go! As far as Heaven was concerned, Aziraphale was a traitor, so they sure as hell wouldn’t just accept him back with open arms. Besides, they were on their own side! They are a team! Aziraphale wouldn’t just abandon him like this!

Frustrated, the demon found himself in the Bentley again, speeding off to find some leads. He couldn’t—no, he _ wouldn’t _ stand idly by if his best friend was hurt somewhere. Crowley would have to go around and ask some more, look around for clues. He would be desperate enough to go back to Hell and force something out of someone down there. He would do anything and everything in his power to ensure Aziraphale’s safety, no matter the cost. 

Unbeknownst to Crowley, Aziraphale was in the worst pain imaginable. How foolish of him to believe in the falsehood of his safety. What a lie. Of course he wasn’t safe, not even after his trial. He blamed himself for his own stupidity in believing the Archangels weren’t going to come after him. That day when Aziraphale was summoned… he knew this wasn’t going to end well for him. He would be proven correct when, upon arriving, he was immediately knocked out by someone unseen, waking up cold metal clasped around his wrists, bound to a pristine, white wall behind him. There in front of him stood Gabriel, and thus began to the worse couple of months of his entire life… by his fellow, supposedly “divine and angelic” ex-coworkers.

Aziraphale remembered it so vividly; the beatings, the breaking of his bones, cutting him up as if he was ribbons. He couldn’t even defend himself because of his bound wrists. Aziraphale was helpless to his blood being spilled across the white walls and floor, smearing all over Gabriel’s face, hands, clothes, and shoes. The sounds of Gabriel punching him, kicking him, breaking is bones reverberated off of the walls and back to him, making it sound louder. He remembered the sounds of his screams as well, screaming until his voice was hoarse, throat burning. Aziraphale remembered Gabriel’s pleasure of shattering his mentality, ruining his chances of ever having a normal mindset after he decided his torture would be finished. 

The angel also remembered weeping for Crowley to find and rescue him. Alone, he would sob, begging for Crowley to come for him. As days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Aziraphale had begun to realize just how alone he truly was. He had lost all hope of Crowley rescuing him, and he had also lost all hope of Gabriel stopping anytime soon. 

As this continued to drag on, Aziraphale couldn’t remember the exact day he had become terrified of Gabriel. He remembered the feeling, however; the tightening in his chest, eyes blown wide with absolute terror, the panic that washed over his entire self and threw away every other feeling inside him. The blond remembered backing himself up against the wall, digging himself as far as he could into it as he sobbed noisily. Aziraphale remembered crying for Crowley as well, which only made Gabriel angry. From then on, the sessions had been longer than before, lasting for what seemed like hours, perhaps even a full day, Gabriel miracling away his wounds just to inflict more pain upon him. 

Then for three whole days, nothing. Aziraphale had awoken to a clean white room with nothing in it but himself. He was not bound, there didn’t even seem to be a door in this room. This room seemed to shatter the rest of Aziraphale’s mental state, bitter loneliness, and silence seeping into his mind, for now, he felt truly and utterly alone. For those three days, Aziraphale remembered being incoherent and an absolute sobbing mess. 

And after those three, agonizing long days, Gabriel had returned alongside Michael, Sandalphon and Uriel. On that day, Aziraphale was informed of his release, stating that Gabriel “was bored“ of torturing him. After months of countless torture sessions, Aziraphale was finally given his freedom… although being thrown into a world where he was broken, more than likely unable to return to society normally. 

Aziraphale remembered Gabriel snapping his fingers, and suddenly, the angel had been miracled out of that room. Thrown out on the street as if he were trash. It was dark, cold, and he was dropped in front of somewhere he, at first, had no idea where he was. But he realized he was in Mayfair, which meant… 

_ He was close to Crowley. _

Biting back a sob, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself in a foolish attempt to provide himself with some sort of comfort. Slowly, he limped his way to Crowley’s flat with only the demon on his mind. 

Crowley was frustrated. Normally, he would be sleeping at this hour of the night, but he wasn’t, angrily grasping papers in his hands. These were his notes—notes of potential clues on Aziraphale’s whereabouts. He was angry because, well, he had run into a dead end. No leads, no evidence, and no clues. Absolutely nothing! It was like Aziraphale vanished into thin air! With a frustrated yell, Crowley threw the papers behind him, paper scattering across the ground. He slumped back into his chair, hands covering his face as he pressed the back of his head against his chair. Crowley didn’t know what he was going to do. How could these mortals just forget Aziraphale?! Yes, Crowley had suspected the Archangels having something to do with this, but he just didn’t want to believe it. They were safe… there’s no way in hell—

A soft knock on his front door snapped the demon out of his thoughts. He lifted his head from his hands, moving his head towards the direction of the knock. He stared off into the direction, deadpan until a glimmer of hope spread in his chest. Crowley shot up from his chair, half sprinting over toward his front door. He had hoped and prayed (ironically) that this was either Aziraphale or someone with a lead on his whereabouts.

_ Please be Aziraphale, please be Aziraphale, please be Aziraphale, please be Aziraphale, please— _

But when Crowley opened the door, he was absolutely, utterly shocked at what he saw. 

There stood Aziraphale, face bloodied and bruised from constant abuse, putting most of his weight on his right leg, holding himself squeamishly. He looked so… broken… just looking at him caused Crowley’s heart to clench as worry overtake him entirely.

“C-Crowley—” Aziraphale began to speak in a hoarse, hushed voice, lifting his arms away from himself and at Crowley. 

“Angel!” Crowley cried, catching the angel as he nearly fell, wrapping his arms protectively around Aziraphale as the latter buried himself into the demon. He gripped onto Crowley’s shirt as he sniffled and the tears began to run down his face. 

Crowley didn’t know how to take this. His eyes were widened in absolute shock, attempting to piece together what had happened to him. The demon gently pressed his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, making the crying angel look at him, examing his face. 

“Holy shit,” Crowley gasped, eyes frantically looking him over. “What happened?! How did this—“ 

Crowley was cut off by Aziraphale making a pained whine, nearly toppling over from the pain in his left leg. Broken, torn muscle, sprained—Crowley didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He scooped the angel up in his arms, carrying the angel into the flat as he kicked the door closed behind him. The demon hurriedly made his way to his bedroom. There, they could talk in absolute privacy. Aziraphale made a pained noise, burying himself into Crowley again as the demon carried him. Once they arrived at the demon’s bedroom, the angel was sat down on the bed. 

Panicked, Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s wrist. “W-wait, Crowley, please don’t go—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Crowley reassured, sitting down next to the trembling, injured angel. 

That’s when Aziraphale burst into tears, lowering his head in shame, sobbing as hot tears rushed down his cheeks. Crowley had no idea what happened to Aziraphale, but for him to react like this, it must have been horrible. He pulled his best friend into a hug, the crying angel clinging to him as if he was his lifeline, sobbing into his chest. Crowley tried to shush him, cooing gently in an attempt to calm Aziraphale down. For a while, the angel just cried, the sounds of his sobs, sniffles, and gasps broke Crowley’s heart as anger and worry built up inside of him. Worried for obvious reasons, but angry that someone did something so horrible to Aziraphale to make him cry this hard. The angel never cried like this, and Crowley would know, considering the six-thousand years of their friendship. 

After such a long time Aziraphale’s sobs turned into soft sniffles and those soft sniffles turned into absolute silence. Looking down at the angel, Crowley realized that he was asleep. With a tear-stained face pressed against Crowley, this looked like the first sleep the angel had in months. Crowley gripped Aziraphale tightly, eyes narrowing, not at Aziraphale, but at the thought that occurred in his mind.

_ Who did this to you, angel? _


	2. Night's Terror

_ Heaven is Worse Than Hell _

_ Chapter 2: Night’s Terror _

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

When Crowley awoke from his slumber, he was greeted by silence. Yawning, the demon shifts his head off of the pillow, eyes landing on the clock sitting on the stand next to his bed. The clock said it is nine o’clock in the morning. Yawning again, Crowley slunk his head back down onto the pillow so he could sleep some more. Well, that _ was _ his plan, anyway, until he felt the warmth of another body pressed up against him. As if Crowley was smacked in the head with it, last night’s events came back to him, worry instantly filled the demon, like a flood pouring from a now broken dam. Crowley opened his yellow serpentine eyes in order to look down at Aziraphale, who was still sleeping. As Crowley stared sadly at Aziraphale, the demon noticed the rather intimate position they were in. 

On the bed, Crowley and Aziraphale laid next to each other. Crowley had one arm wrapped protectively around the angel’s lower back, pulling him in close, the other arm draped underneath Aziraphale’s head, surprised that his arm hadn’t fallen asleep. One of Aziraphale’s legs had snuggly draped itself around the demon’s hip, arms clinging around Crowley’s back as hands gripped his shirt. The angel’s head was buried in the demon’s neck, still asleep. Crowley didn’t know when he had fallen asleep; perhaps it was Aziraphale’s peaceful, sleeping form that caused him to doze off for the night. Judging by his crinkled clothes, the demon confirmed this idea within the bounds of his mind. The demon also didn’t realize the fact that his chin had was resting on top of Aziraphale’s blond hair, protectively clutching him close. 

Not too long after, Crowley was snapped out of his thoughts at the realization of Aziraphale’s injuries. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought; who could do this to him? Crowley personally didn’t like the coincidence of Aziraphale’s sudden disappearance, then returning with injuries.

Nevertheless, the demon knew he had some injuries to rid of.

Lifting Aziraphale’s buried head from him, Crowley gently laid it down against the pillow. He sat up, looking down at Aziraphale’s battered and bruised face. Just looking at the angel’s horrific injuries made the demon frown as his heart clenched. He also felt a sense of absolute rage build up in his said clenching heart. The mere fact that someone caused Aziraphale such great pain made Crowley want to rip them apart; rip their limbs off one by one, gouge their eyes out, rip out their intestines—

Crowley shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of heinous, intrusive thoughts. The task at hand, as stated, was Aziraphale and healing his wounds. With a snap of his fingers, the cuts on Aziraphale’s face closed, the dried blood and blue and dark purple bruises fading into nothing. Crowley was thankful that the sound of his snapping fingers didn’t wake the sleeping angel; he knew Aziraphale needed all the rest possible, considering the amount of pain and trauma he went through. The next task at hand was Aziraphale’s leg; Crowley remembered that the angel was in pain from it. He gently and carefully lifted it off his hip and onto the bed, hand feeling for injuries on the leg. His hand eventually made it’s way to the ankle, feeling tenderness; he even heard the angel produce a pained groan in his sleep when he touched it. Now that he located the source of the injury, he once again snapped his fingers, ridding of the injury.

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief when the healing process was finished, glad that Aziraphale was no longer injured. As the demon looked at the angel, his face was full of pity for his best friend. He felt so horrible that such a heinous act was enforced on him, and that he was blind to the realization of it’s soon to be occurrence. Crowley couldn’t help but blame himself for being unable to protect Aziraphale. Why oh why didn’t he see the signs of being unsafe? He should have known something this bad was going to happen! 

But, what _ had _ happened, exactly? What was the reason for Aziraphale to show up at his doorstep during the middle of the night, battered and bruised? There had to be a reason for this; that kind of thing doesn’t just happen at random! Aziraphale is strong, and he’s smart. For someone to be able to overpower and hurt him… they must have been extremely powerful.

Sighing, the demon decided it would be best to wait until Aziraphale awakens. If it wasn’t too much for his friend, he could explain it all to him. Playing the waiting game would prove to be agonizingly long since Crowley didn’t know when the angel was to wake up… 

_ Aziraphale was standing in a pure white room, walls barely visible as the pristine walls nearly blinded the blond-haired angel. It was so blindingly white, in fact, Aziraphale winced slightly. There were no chains, no voices—nothing but painful silence. Aziraphale didn’t have any thoughts swimming around in his mind, which was surprising, considering he considered himself thoughtful. But, right now, his thoughts were… blank. Well, perhaps that had been a lie; he thought the room was blindingly bright, and about the fact of nothingness that filled his ears. _

_ The angel was snapped out as the sounds of walking filled his ears, flat heels clicking on the ground, making its way towards him. The sounds of a door opening and closing, the feet ceasing out of existence resulted in Aziraphale to turn around. _

_ When he did, the angel felt his chest tighten in fear at the sight in front of him. There stood Gabriel with the other three Archangels, Sandalphon, Michael, and Uriel standing behind him. The sight of Gabriel standing there caused Aziraphale’s eyes to widen, hands shaking as he stood frozen at his spot. Gabriel smirked smugly at the sight, tasting amusement at Aziraphale’s horrified reaction. The Archangel sickeningly relished in making Aziraphale terrified, finding himself feeling drunk in amusement to hear the other, according to Gabriel, “lesser angel” screaming in agony. _

_ “Did you miss me, Aziraphale? I can’t say I missed you, though; more like I missed your screams or pure terror and agony.” Gabriel states smugly before he held up a device that is specifically designed to break bones. “Let’s continue where we left off, shall we? I do believe I was… going to break your fingers.” _

_ When Gabriel began to walk forward to the trembling angel, Aziraphale’s body seemed to become aware of the situation, no longer frozen. He stumbled back until his back hit the wall, panicked breaths escaping his lips as he slid down the wall. _

_ Curled up in the fetal position, hearing nothing but the sounds of Gabriel’s walking and the sounds of his own ragged breaths, Aziraphale screaming words of panic. He tried pleading with Gabriel to not do this again, but the Archangel’s cold eyes were focused, determined on bringing Aziraphale the most horrible of pain imaginable. As his superior continued to step forward, Aziraphale realized there was no way of getting out of this, Gabriel’s painful plan ineffable— _

With a gasp, Aziraphale’s blue eyes opened wide as he quickly sat up in bed. Panting harshly, he gripped the bedsheet that was draped across him until his knuckles turned white. As he regained his breath, the angel looked around the room, finding it unrecognizable from the room in his nightmare. 

Wait.

_ Nightmare. _

Aziraphale let out of sigh of relief when he realized what he saw was nothing but a nightmare, albeit it looked and felt so… real. He remembered being thrown out on the streets like trash, and he remembered making his way to Crowley’s flat in Mayfair. Now that Aziraphale understood that was nothing but a nightmare, he recognized the room to be Crowley’s bedroom. 

The angel flinched when he heard the bedroom door open, head whipping toward the sound, seeming to expect to see Gabriel standing there—but he didn’t. There stood Crowley, wearing his same dress shirt and designer jeans from last night, shades off of his face to reveal his yellow, serpentine eyes that Aziraphale grew so fond of. Aziraphale felt relieved knowing that it was only Crowley and himself in the flat—no Archangels anywhere. 

Crowley cracked a smile. “You're awake.” He said, sounding a bit relieved himself. 

“Crowley,” Was all Aziraphale said. Perhaps it came out a little bit too desperate than he wanted… 

The demon began to walk over to the blond, sauntering over with that same, sinful walk that Aziraphale had become accustomed to over the thousands of years he knew him. When Crowley made it over to him, he sat on the edge of the bed, face now serious as he stared at Aziraphale. The stare caused the angel to look away, eyes fixated on his hands that were folded in his lap. 

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in months,” Crowley began gently. “I was so worried about you, and I found myself feeling relieved when you showed up at my door… albeit battered and bruised.” The mental image of Aziraphale resembling abuse filled Crowley with pain, as it did Aziraphale. “What happened to you, angel? Who did this to you?” 

At those questions, Aziraphale flinched. He gripped the bedsheet again, however, he didn’t grab it as tightly this time. The thoughts of his torture he attempted to repress flooded back into his mind, the sounds of his screams and Gabriel’s laughter came to him full force. Aziraphale’s hands flew up to his hears, covering them in a foolish attempt to block out the horrid sounds of his torture. He let out a cry as tears rushed down his cheeks, shamefully hiding his face from Crowley. He didn’t want him to see him like this. 

Upon seeing this, Crowley immediately panicked. He had never seen Aziraphale this freaked out about something, that something he had no idea what. Seeing Aziraphale cry and panic like that made Crowley scoot closer to the angel, protectively wrapping his arms around Aziraphale as he pulled the blond close to him. Aziraphale’s head pressed against Crowley’s shoulder as the latter rubbed his back, whispering words of encouragement to the upset angel in an attempt to comfort and calm him. 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, angel. Whatever happened, you’re safe now. No one is going to harm you anymore.” Crowley reassured. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know what happened to Aziraphale; he needed comfort right now, and the demon was going to give him just that. 

As the minutes passed, Crowley’s presence seemed to calm Aziraphale. The angel felt at home and safe when with Crowley, and his comforting coos helped him to realize he was in a safe place. As Aziraphale pulled away from their hug, he wiped away and leftover tears that clung to his cheeks. He couldn’t help but feel so weak and pathetic right now; he practically let Gabriel win by crying over the torture events. 

But, after going through something so traumatic, how could he not?

“I-I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to look at Crowley. 

Crowley frowned. “What for?” Crowley bit his lip when he watched Aziraphale shake his head. He was holding something back; something he didn’t want to tell him. But why? And what? “You do know you can talk to me about anything, yes?” All Crowley received was a small nod. Crowley sighed. “Look at me.” 

Aziraphale hesitated. He didn’t want to look at Crowley; he didn’t want him to see how pathetic he knew he looked. Crowley attempted to reach out and comfortingly touch Aziraphale, the flinch the angel produced was so bad the demon felt his heart ache at the sight. The demon lightly clenched his hand before retracting it, allowing it to rest on his knee. 

“What happened to you?” Crowley tried again, attempting to sound as soft as possible. He only wanted to know what happened, and he hoped that wasn’t too much to ask. When Aziraphale didn’t answer him, the demon tried to follow his gaze, but he ended up looking away again. “Angel, work with me here.” He pleaded. 

“Can I ask for a hug?” Aziraphale asked. 

This odd request caused Crowley to feel confused. Just a minute ago, the angel flinched away from his touch, but now he requested to be held? 

“I…” Crowley was the one who hesitated this time, hands shaking with anticipation. “Is that what you want right now?” He just wanted to be sure… 

“_ Yes. _” And that confirmation was all he needed. 

Crowley lifted himself off the bed and placed himself right beside Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around the angel in a protective hug. His arms wrapped around the lower half of his back, pulling him in for a close hug. Aziraphale’s arms found themselves wrapped around Crowley’s upper back, clinging gently to him. He snuggled his face into the demon’s shoulder as if to hide from the world around him. Crowley rubbed the angel’s back soothingly, attempting to comfort him despite the lingering confusion that still clung to his mind. 

“If there is any way for me to help you, I will gladly… try my best.” Said Crowley. “But first… I need to know what’s going on. Or, what happened.”

At that statement, Aziraphale narrowed his eyes sadly. “Would it be so terrible of me to refuse to tell you?”

“... Yes and no. While it is your choice, I feel as though it would be best to talk about it. Bundling something severe inside of you causes it to eat you up inside, and you will feel much better if you talk about it.” The demon gently explained. 

Upon hearing those words, Aziraphale clung tighter to Crowley. He blinked tears out of his eyes despite their threats to fall, desperate in his attempt to hide his weakness. While Crowley was right, Aziraphale still found it extremely difficult to talk about the torture. The angel was at war with himself; refuse to tell him, or tell him now. It was as though an unseen force prevented Aziraphale from talking about it, whispering threats into his ear that if he were to tell Crowley, he would seriously regret it. His fear was that, if he told him, Gabriel would know about it and torture him again. Aziraphale was terrified of that happening again… 

But, on the other hand, Aziraphale agreed that talking about his problems could help him feel better. But, as stated, his fear clouded his mind and shushed him. The internal conflict was intense, heart pounding in his ears as he tried to pick a side; tell or don’t tell. 

After what seemed like forever, Aziraphale would pick a side, and he could only hope that it was the right option… 

Aziraphale took in a deep breath before speaking, his voice barely even above a whisper, and yet so loud in the quiet room they were in. 

“Gabriel tortured me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hurt myself by my own damn writing


	3. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's so fucking short jadhjadjlalfjjdhadsjkasd im sorry  
I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE LONGER IM JUST TRYING TO MAKE BUILDUP UNTIL I GET INTO DEEP ANGST

_ Heaven is Worse Than Hell _

_ Chapter 3: Safe _

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

  
  
  


“Gabriel tortured me.” 

It took a minute for Crowley to comprehend the weight of the angel’s words. He almost didn’t want to belie ve him—while that sounded harsh, it’s just that, while Gabriel is naturally an asshat, he wasn’t that evil to torture someone… Or was he? But then again, Gabriel  _ did _ want to kill Aziraphale without a proper trial…  _ Gabriel tortured me.  _ Those three words reverberated in Crowley’s head, and as realization kicked in, so did rage. 

Crowley’s arms tightened around Aziraphale as his nails dug into him, albeit not hard enough to hurt the angel. Those hands of his convulsed as his serpentine eyes widened with killing intent. The demon could feel his increased heartrate bound against his chest, the thumping sound filling his ears. Crowley’s self-control had begun to slip through his fingers, feeling as though he was a feral animal wanting to rip his prey to shreds. He wanted to rip Gabriel apart; wanted to hear him scream in agony as he skinned him alive, blood dripping to the floor, splattering on the walls, smeared on his hands—

As Crowley remained silent, Aziraphale feared that he made a mistake telling him. Perhaps he should have kept it to himself, after all… “Crowley—”

“ **I’ll kill him.** ” Crowley declares, baring his animalistic teeth. Fangs grew in his mouth, long and sharp, venom threatening to drip from his elongated fangs. His yellow eyes were more pronounced, angry at the situation, and at Gabriel. 

Aziraphale flinched. “No, my dear, no. It is not worth it.” 

“Of  _ course _ it’s worth it!” Crowley shouts, breaking their hug to look at him. “He hurt you! I swear to Satan, I’ll kill that fucker!” Crowley was outraged. Not just outraged, he was enraged. 

Crowley looked so… animalistic. The sight made Aziraphale gasp. “Crowley, please calm down… You’re scaring me.” 

The demon’s eyes widened a fraction in realization. He was angry, far too angry, and needed to calm down. He shut his eyes, allowing his eyes to return to “normal” as his fangs retracted. The demon looked at Aziraphale was apologetic eyes, ashamed that he saw that repulsive sight of him. Crowley felt guilty that he scared the angel. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just… so  _ angry. _ I want him dead.” Crowley apologized. 

Aziraphale frowned. “I understand you’re upset, but believe me… It is not worth it. If you were to kill Gabriel… it would only make things worse.” As the angel said this, he looked down at his lap, until he cracked a sad smile and looked at the demon. “But I assure you, I’m quite alright, dear.”

Crowley could see right through that lie. “No, you’re not! He  _ hurt _ you, angel!” Crowley didn’t mean to yell, but how else is going to make Aziraphale see? 

_ He hurt you. _

Aziraphale’s smile faltered, turning upside down into a frown. He looked back down to his lap, gripping the sheets that laid sprawled across his lap. He bit his lip, deeply conflicted as unpleasant and destructive thoughts bounced around in his head. He felt shameful that he told Crowley about it, and yet he also felt ashamed that he tried to lie not only to himself but to Crowley about being okay when he really isn’t. The demon only wanted to help; he only wanted to bring comfort to Aziraphale and help him through the pain and suffering he was forced to endure. Aziraphale thought of himself as a broken record; unfixable, merely useless trash to dispose of. The blond could feel tears well up in his eyes again.

Crowley noticed the ashamed look Aziraphale was displaying, and he could just tell that in his mind, he was destroying himself. The demon frowned sadly, carefully raising his hands to gently cup Aziraphale’s face. The latter gasped at the contact, now looking at the demon with confusion, as well as feeling a little scared. 

“It took me a while to realize this for myself, but it’s okay to feel hurt,” Crowley tells him, thumbs wiping away any stray tears that had fallen. “It isn’t normal to feel “fine” after going through something so traumatic, angel or not.”

Despite not believing in that statement, Aziraphale’s eyes widened at it. The widening of his eyes wasn’t due to a sudden realization, but merely because Crowley had to tell  _ himself _ that. Was there something Crowley wasn’t telling him? If so; then what? Aziraphale was most certainly curious but decided to leave such a private matter alone, worried that Crowley wasn’t comfortable talking about it. Instead, the angel leaned into the touch, resting the palm of his hand over the top of Crowley’s hand.

The angel could only bring himself to nod his head. 

A smile inched its way across Crowley’s face. “I’ll protect you, angel.” Crowley leaned over and kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “I promise.”

  
  
  


After almost a week after the torture ended, Aziraphale found himself exhausted. After an anxious week of nightmares, flashbacks, and hallucinations, Aziraphale felt completely spent. However, he wasn’t used to sleeping, hence his body not being able to shut down properly. The angel was also scared of his nightmares; they all felt so real it made him feel as though he was back in that situation. Even if Crowley promised to protect him, he still found it difficult to cope with it all. Aziraphale had considered a myriad of coping mechanisms, but worried those methods would cause pain to Crowley… 

Crowley himself had to get used to Aziraphale starting a sleep schedule. He pretty much stayed in bed all day anyway, but the angel had expressed his disliking of sleep. That took longer to get used to over than the fact of them sharing a bed. That, he didn’t mind at all. 

When they both turned in for the night, they started off with Crowley’s back facing Aziraphale, the latter just staring at the back of his head. The demon had pretty much drifted off into slumber, but Aziraphale was wide awake; unable to shut down. He tried to sleep many, many times, but every time he closed his eyes, he could just  _ see _ Gabriel peering down at him as he harmed him, the other Archangels looking on, amused. Especially Sandalphon; out of the other Archangels, he was the most amused. 

These visions resulted in Aziraphale tossing and turning for a while, attempting to drift off into sleep, just as Crowley accomplished. The angel wished he was like his demonic friend; able to fall asleep right after closing his eyes. Aziraphale wanted to sleep without dread; he didn’t want to think that, if he were to open his eyes, he would see the Archangels standing there, and that everything up until this point was nothing more than a dream. 

After Aziraphale turned for the eightieth time, Crowley opened his eyes. He turned his head over his shoulder to gaze over at Aziraphale, who’s back was facing him. The demon gave him a look of sympathy, even if he couldn’t see it. Carefully and quietly, Crowley turned himself around and pressed his chest against Aziraphale’s back, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist as he spooned the angel gently, burying his nose into the angel’s shoulder. When he felt this, Aziraphale opened his eyes wide, flinching at the sudden contact. He felt his body tense up in surprise, soon feeling a sense of protection and comfort enveloping him. 

After some time of just laying there in silence, Aziraphale felt himself relax, pressing himself further into Crowley, who was now asleep again. The blond snuggled his head into the pillow, a genuine smile pressing unto his face as he finally, finally drifted off into sleep. And this time, he slept well; definitely the best sleep he received in his entire life. Because Crowley was there, providing him with comfort, he felt at home. 

He felt safe.


	4. Unconventional Methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone is going to fucking burn me for this

_Heaven is Worse Than Hell_

_Chapter 4: Unconventional Methods_

⚔️⚔️⚔️

_“Sinful angel,” Michael’s disgusted, judgemental voice made Aziraphale want to curl up in a ball and just die. “you’re pathetic, Aziraphale. You should have known this was coming; what with you fraternizing with that demon of yours.”_

_“He certainly is pathetic, is he not?” Uriel commented off to the side. _

_Sandalphon couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene. “He reeks of evil. It’s only natural he is treated as such.”_

_Aziraphale couldn’t scream anymore, for his voice was hoarse, throat so sore it felt as thought it was burning. He could only produce deep, ragged gasps and audible whimpers of agony as his torture commenced. Bruises adorned his face as droplets of dark, crimson blood dripped from his mouth and nose, a puddle of his blood near the angel’s face. Aziraphale’s blue eyes were wide in agony, unable to heal himself, for his higher-ups had done something to his healing abilities to make them useless. Tears ran down the blond’s cheeks, his sobs sounding like music to Gabriel’s ears, and yet sounded disgusting to the_ _other Archangels. _

_Their sneering faces and amused giggles painted a picture for Aziraphale; angels were sicker than demons. _

_“I assume you understand why you’re here, traitor,” Gabriel says smugly. Aziraphale could practically hear the smirk that’s stretched across his face. “Or are you that stupid and have forgotten?” He questions. _

_Aziraphale was afraid of answering. No, he wasn’t afraid; he was terrified. Providing Gabriel with an answer or not would result in the same result; a more horrid, painful beating. _

_Aziraphale would be proven correctly_ _when Gabriel delivered a kick to the blond angel’s chest, all angels in the room would be able to hear the audible cracking sound that erupted from the blond. Gabriel felt thrilled to hear another pathetic, hoarse scream ripping from Aziraphale’s throat. The breaking of his ribs must have been so severe the pain was unbearable, he couldn’t help but scream. After the scream, the angel sniffled wetly, attempting to suck in at least some of the blood pouring out of his undeniably broken nose. Gabriel sneered in disgust at the noise. _

_“Disgusting freak. Answer my question.” Gabriel demanded. Aziraphale was shaking incorrectly, inner panic spreading in his mind for he wasn’t able to lift his head up. The Archangel, noticing Aziraphale’s failure to look at him properly, grabbed a fistful_ _of blond hair, a cry erupting from Aziraphale as he was forced to look at Gabriel._

_“Answer me,” Gabriel demanded again._

_Aziraphale sucked in a breath. “F-fraternizing,” He stuttered, resisting the sudden urge to cough up blood right then and there. “I-I’ve been… b-been f-fraternizing with a d-demon. I pre-prevented the world f-from e-ending…” Aziraphale sobbed as if he was repenting his sins. _

_Gabriel smirked. “Exactly.” He let go of Aziraphale’s blond hair with a slight throw, the whiplash causing poor, tortured angel to gasp. “You went against the divine plan with our enemy; with a demon. You’re a pathetic excuse for an angel that doesn’t deserve happiness.” _

_Aziraphale hated how his pathetic sobs fled past his lips. He couldn’t help it from how much pain he was in; both physically and emotionally. He suddenly thought of Crowley, picturing his face in his head as previously said lines sounded in his head. Hearing Crowley’s voice, seeing his face, it all felt so distantly long ago, like it hasn’t happened in years. _

_“C-Crowley… Crowley…” Aziraphale didn’t know when he started crying out for his_ _demonic friend, but this could only make Gabriel angrier, giving him more of an excuse to abuse him. _

_Sandalphon snarled. “How dare he mention that demon’s name in our presence.”_

_Gabriel couldn’t agree more. Grabbing Aziraphale by the collar, his fist came up to deliver a punch to his already bruised and bloodied face. The latter’s head was practically thrown to the side, blood splattering over the floor. The Archangel let go of the other’s collar, looking to his other hand to gaze at the blood. _

_“Disgusting,” Gabriel said. “You truly are disgusting, Aziraphale. How pathetic—"_

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open as he was thrust from his dream. He was surprisingly calm after having such a horrid dream, however, he was used to it after nearing two months of having nightmares, as terrifying as it may sound. The angel stared off to the side of the room with a blank expression, until he felt startled by the lack of warmth next to him. Crowley had cuddled up to him last night to provide him with comfort, something they had begun to do recently. Aziraphale wasn’t complaining, no, it felt pleasant to have the demon by his side. 

Truth be told, Aziraphale didn’t like to be alone; he hated to be alone. Loneliness was all he felt during the duration of his torture, and he would prefer to be alone as little as possible. This was the explanation as to why Aziraphale groggily sat up in bed, swinging his feet over the side as he slipped his feet into his light brown house slippers, forcing himself to stand. For a little while, Aziraphale stood there with his eyes closed, taking in deep breaths before reaching out for his brown and white striped house robe that laid upon the coatrack next to the bed. The angel slipped his arms into it, wrapping it around his body, hiding his pajamas from the world.

He truthfully didn’t want to get out of bed, but he knew he must find Crowley. Reluctantly, he walked toward the bedroom door, turning the knob to open the door. Aziraphale wandered around the flat in search of his demon companion, wanting nothing more than his presence. The angel found Crowley in the kitchen, still clad in his own pajamas as he sipped out of a mug, presumably coffee judging by the smell. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that the demon was still here. Well, he lived here, so of course, he would still be there, but anxiety liked to tell him otherwise… 

Crowley looked over to the source of the noise, just now noticing Aziraphale there. The demon’s yellow eyes seemed to glisten in the morning sunlight. “Goodmorning, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale could only muster up a relieved smile, maneuvering his way over to the demon. He pressed against Crowley’s side, the latter placing the mug of coffee down on the counter so he could wrap his arms protectively around the angel. Aziraphale wrapped his own arms around Crowley's middle, snuggling his face into the redhead’s shoulder. The angel sighed in content as he clung gently to the demon. Neither of them was flustered by such an intimate gesture. In fact, Crowley was happy to have Aziraphale in his arms, as the angel was happy to cuddle with the demon. 

“Want some coffee, angel?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“I could make you something if you’d allow me to. Anything you want.” 

“I’m quite alright, dear.”

But Aziraphale was anything but. He knew he wasn’t alright; anyone with eyes could conclude he was suffering. The angel didn’t know what ailment was lying to him, trying to convince him of his false happiness. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it’s existence, either. 

Aziraphale lifted his head off the demon’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against the said shoulder. His dull blue eyes, once so full of life, gazed upon a knife that was conveniently laying on the kitchen counter. The blond eyed it, looking at its sharp edge, so perfect for slicing open skin and drawing blood. Aziraphale was so enraptured by it, he seemed to block out everything around him, including the question Crowley asked him. The only thing the angel did was blink, the world around him going fuzzy as he focused on the knife, intrusive and unpleasant thoughts zooming through his head. 

“_Angel,_” Crowley said, this time loud enough to get Aziraphale’s attention. 

Aziraphale gasped lightly, Crowley’s voice effectively snapping him out of his dark thoughts. “I-I’m sorry, dear. What was that?” He asked, attempting to cover-up the fact of his spacing out. 

Crowley looked at him and frowned. “Is there something on your mind?”

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I am quite sure,” Aziraphale responds. “I’m just… spacing out is all. Thinking.” 

Crowley hummed in response, burying his nose into Aziraphale’s blond curls. He was worried about the angel. “Are you sure that’s all it is? You can tell me anything, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes, I know. But I promise that’s all it is. I’m just… thinking about everything that’s happened to me. I tried my best to be happy, but it was ripped away from me…” Well, he half told the truth and half lied, but even so, he felt bad about lying to Crowley… 

Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head, the latter feeling a wave of happiness surge through him when he did that. He didn’t remember when Crowley picked up that habit, but he still loved it. 

“I’m so sorry, angel.” He said against Aziraphale’s blond hair. “I’m sorry Ga—he was such an abusive, sadistic bastard. You didn’t deserve to… go through all that pain.” Said the demon, choosing his words carefully in fear of triggering the angel. The last thing he wanted was to induce a panic attack; making it the fifth one this week… 

Aziraphale didn’t say anything; he just continued to lay his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He was glad to have someone like Crowley taking care of him, someone who supported him no matter what. The angel couldn’t say he was used to this kind of treatment, though, considering the actual living Hell he was forced to induce by his brethren. However, he savored whatever happiness Crowley gave to him, finding solace and comfort that he had someone who was determined to protect him. 

The angel was snapped out of his thoughts when another kiss was pressed against his head, this time followed by a light, comforting rub on his back. 

“You can go back to bed if you’d like. You deserve all the rest you want.” Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. “Will you join me?” 

Crowley sputtered a little, a small blush creeping across his face. "Well, um, you see, I have some things I need to do… I can join you later?" Crowley explained as well as proposing that idea. 

"Oh," Aziraphale said, sadly. 

Crowley sighed. "Listen, angel, I promise I'll join you later, okay? I give you my word. I just need to finish some paperwork." 

The angel nodded his head, agreeing with the demon before going back to bed. 

Maybe a half-an-hour or perhaps even forty minutes later, Aziraphale was slowly sneaking back into the kitchen. He made sure not to produce any noise, for if he did, Crowley would hear him and ruin his plans. He wanted that knife—he _needed_ that knife. The angel was so tired of withstanding uncontrollable pain; he wanted to inflict his own pain on himself, a pain he could control. Aziraphale could finally decide when he could feel pain, and when he didn't have to feel pain. The blond heard of this coping mechanism from humans, and it was worth a try. 

Finally in the kitchen, Aziraphale's eyes scanned the room for the knife. However, he couldn't find it anywhere. Crowley must have put it up somewhere… 

Swallowing, Aziraphale crept over to the drawers, quietly and slowly opening up each one. His hands shook with anticipation, wanting so desperately just to find this knife. Sure, the angel could miracle himself a knife, but this one has left a lasting impression on the angel, hence why he was so hellbent on obtaining it. 

Finally, Aziraphale located the sharp object. For a while, he studied it, making sure it was the right one… until he was certain that it was. He grasped it, hurriedly shoving it in his robe pocket, closing the drawer and making his way back to the bedroom. When he was sitting on the bed, Aziraphale looked at the shiny, sharp object in his hands. He did feel bad about doing this, since it might make Crowley sad… But, he didn't have to know about his new, harmless coping mechanism, now did he? 

Carefully, Aziraphale rolled down his sleeve, exposing his pale wrist. The knife stuttered slightly as his hands shook, the knife's silver edge close to his skin. For this to work, he decided to not allow his healing abilities to heal his self-inflicted wounds; reduced to human healing. The angel knew he would have to hide these well, too, for it would worry Crowley. The demon might even try to heal his wounds, and that, Aziraphale could not allow. He wanted this, and he didn't expect Crowley to understand… 

Well, it's now or never… 

Aziraphale took in a deep breath before he began to slide the knife across his skin. He gasped when the cold metal pierced his skin, drawing blood in its wake. The angel felt oddly satisfied as he stared at the fresh cut, watching it bleed slightly. Before he knew it, Aziraphale was doing it again and again, cut after cut, inflicting wounds on himself. 

For whatever reason, the blond remembered the verse; _You shall not make any cuts on your body… Leviticus 19:28._

When Aziraphale was finished, he looked at his work as if to admire it. He cut himself a total of six times, miracling away the blood. He didn't want the blood to stain his robe, he liked this robe, and he didn't want Crowley to notice his blood. Sighing slightly, Aziraphale hide the knife within his personal belongings; somewhere where his demon friend couldn't find it. With his sleeve now rolled down, Aziraphale laid back onto the bed, feeling sleep overtake him as he began to nap… 

**Author's Note:**

> hi i have no excuse for this  
im not used to writing such short ass chapters but here it is


End file.
